


make me better

by lantur



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Adjusting to Disability, Alternate Universe, Blind Character, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Non-Graphic Smut, Post-Promised Day, Sexuality and Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantur/pseuds/lantur
Summary: Roy doesn't use the Philosopher's Stone.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 48
Kudos: 188





	make me better

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Make Me Better," by Fabolous.

The first several hours of Roy’s hospitalization pass in a blur. His hands are examined and bandaged. His eyes are examined by two different specialists. The doctor pokes and prods the rest of him, determining that he has a few bruised ribs, and a few other, minor injuries, superficial scrapes and lacerations. Roy is so exhausted, on every level, that he can barely take any of it in. His mind shuts down as soon as he hears the doctor say that Lieutenant Hawkeye will make a full recovery. She’s extremely lucky, she’s undergoing a blood transfusion right now and will have another tomorrow, and yes, considering the special circumstances, the hospital will allow the two of them to share a room.

Roy has no idea what time it is when the doctor leaves. The door to his room hasn’t even been shut for a few minutes when it opens again, and he hears several footsteps. His shoulders tense. He feels so vulnerable, sitting in bed, his world gone small and dark.

“Colonel Mustang.” It’s Fuery’s voice, and it comes to a stop at the side of his bed, along with the other footfalls. “Fuery, Breda, and Falman reporting for duty, sir.”

Roy relaxes somewhat. “Are the three of you alright? Uninjured?”

“No injuries.” Falman is the one to speak this time. “We ran into Doctor Strassman on his way out. He said that Lieutenant Hawkeye is still sedated, but the staff is going to move her in here as soon as she’s finished with her transfusion. The Elrics are three doors down the hall and are well.” 

“Good.” Roy pauses. He’s sure they know, that they’ve heard by now. But they should hear it directly from him. He owes them that, and more. 

“I was forced to perform human transmutation,” he says, shortly, succinctly. “I lost my vision as a result.”

There are no gasps, no sounds of surprise. 

“How does that impact things?” Breda asks, at last. There’s no need to ask what  _ things  _ he’s referring to. 

“I still plan on working to reform the government and making reparations for Ishval.” Roy hesitates, and tries to quell his bitterness. “I’ll just have to find a way to do these things as a civilian. I’ll talk to Grumman and see if he’s willing to give me some sort of position in his new regime.” 

“Grumman?” Falman asks, at the same time Fuery squeaks, “Civilian?”

Even under these circumstances, circumstances he could never have foreseen, Roy smiles slightly. He had missed his men. “I can hardly serve as Fuhrer in my current state, can I? I know that Grumman will be more than pleased to take the reins. I don’t expect that he’ll allow me to retain my commission.” He’s careful with the words, careful to keep his bitterness and grief and frustration and anger from them. He doesn’t need to burden his men with that. 

Falman’s response is immediate. “I’ll check the records, sir. I’ll see if there’s any historical precedent for you to be able to serve.” 

“You’re certainly capable of staying on as a commanding officer who remains out of the field.” Fuery sounds like he’s pacing in circles. “Lieutenant Hawkeye could read for you. I could teach you the raised Amestrian script, too. The trick would just be finding an efficient way to convert print into raised Amestrian script for your paperwork.” 

Roy frowns. “Raised Amestrian script?”

“It’s a system of raised dots that people can read with their fingers, sir.”

“Neat,” Breda muses. “Wait, how do you know it?”

“I’m a communications specialist, and audio communication is just the tip of the iceberg. Between that and help from Hawkeye, you should be able to perform your duties, and Grumman wouldn’t have a reason to discharge you.”

Fuery sounds unusually fierce. Breda makes a sound of assent. “I’ll head to the library and see what I can find to help out.” 

Roy looks at them, and his memory supplies what his eyes don’t. His unit, standing tall and resolute, features set and determined, just as he remembers them. They have so much to be proud of. As does he. “Thank you,” he says, softly, sincerely.

He hears the rustle of their uniforms as they salute, and the three men speak as one. “Yes, sir.” 

-

Breda, Falman, and Fuery stay until the still-sleeping Hawkeye is safely delivered to the hospital room. Falman and Fuery leave then, to feed and walk Black Hayate, quietly speculating on how they can sneak the dog in to visit when Riza awakens. 

Breda lingers by his bedside for a few moments. Roy doesn’t have to ask.

“They’ve bandaged her neck.” Breda’s voice is quiet. “They have her connected to a machine that’s giving her fluids. I’m no expert, but her vitals look stable. She looks tired, and pale, but otherwise okay.”

Roy lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He nods. 

“I’m sorry, Colonel. For everything.” 

The words are kind and true, and Roy is intensely ashamed by the tears that spring to his eyes. He glances away, trying to conceal them, and reminds himself again to be brave. If Hughes was here, he could confide in him - but as fond as he is of his men, they’re not Hughes. They’re still his subordinates, and it’s his responsibility to protect them. They shouldn’t be worrying about him. 

“What time is it, Breda?” It’s embarrassing to ask. He can no longer read a clock. Can no longer read anything. And later, he’ll need help finding his way to the bathroom. He has no idea where it is. Someone will have to point out where the toothbrush and toothpaste are. Shaving and showering, and getting dressed after  _ \-  _ he can’t imagine that will be a quick, effortless, affair either.

“Nineteen hundred hours.” Breda pauses. “I have a watch that vibrates every hour. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” 

Breda claps him on the shoulder, with rather less force than usual, and departs. 

-

Roy keeps the fear (and everything else) at bay by making plans. 

He thinks about Ishval. He thinks about the reforms that Grumman is sure to make. He thinks about the current state of the military, and the changes that have to take place. 

He can still hear the nurses when they talk to him, still feel their arms as they guided him to the bathroom and their hands as they had handed him his dinner. But it’s oddly isolating, oddly lonely, to not be able to see anything at all. He’s never experienced anything like this before. 

And as bone-weary as he is, as physically and mentally exhausted, he still can’t sleep. The doctor had mentioned that briefly, earlier.  _ Your sleep and wake cycles will be impacted, because you no longer have the regular cues of daylight and nightfall to tell your mind and body that it’s time to rest. You’ll adjust, but it will take time.  _

Roy lies back and listens to the steady beep of the machine hooked up to Riza. He wishes he could hear her breathing. He wishes he could see her, wishes he could watch the gentle rise and fall of her chest, just to reassure himself that she’s all right. He misses the sound of her voice. 

He’s lying in a state halfway between wakefulness and a light, uneasy sleep, when he hears a small, ragged gasp. Roy opens his eyes wide - like that’s going to fucking help - and sits up, ignoring the protests of his aching ribs. “Lieutenant?” 

There’s movement, from Riza’s side of the room. The rustling of stiff hospital linen, like she’s trying to sit up as well. “Colonel.” Her voice is hoarse. “Are you all right?”

Of course, after nearly bleeding to death, Riza’s first instinct is to ask after his well-being. Roy closes his eyes, and relaxes back against the pillows. “Better, now.”

-

They stay up late talking, and he fills Riza in on everything he had discussed with the unit. “What do you think?” Roy asks, finally. 

“I believe you’re right about Grumman wanting to take the position of Fuhrer.” Riza coughs, and takes a sip of the water the nurses had left on her bedside table. The glass hits the wood with a soft  _ thunk  _ as she sets it down. “It could be much worse, Colonel. He’s a reasonable man. And with your current relationship, I know he would be amenable to appointing you as the next Fuhrer after he steps down.”

Roy flexes his stiff, bandaged hands. “Do you really think that I would be capable?”

The words come out small and uncertain. He can’t remember the last time he had sounded like that.

“Of course.” He hears the frown in Riza’s voice. “Fuery was right. You’re still capable of service, with the necessary accommodations. None of which are unreasonable. The road ahead will be difficult, but not impossible. Your goals are still within reach, sir.” 

Her confidence in him is comforting, and Roy exhales slowly. “I hope that Grumman agrees with you.” 

There isn’t an iota of doubt in Riza’s tone. “He will.” 

-

Rebecca Catalina and Fuery are the first to visit the following morning, shortly after breakfast. The two of them bring Black Hayate smuggled in a backpack. Roy leans back against his pillows and listens to Riza as she pets the small dog, telling him what a good, brave boy he is. Her voice is warm and joyful, sweet and affectionate. Roy closes his eyes, and savors the sound. He imagines that she must be smiling, her eyes shining with happiness and pride. He is careful not to think about the fact that he’ll never see that smile again. 

Breda comes by afterwards (after Rebecca, Fuery, and Hayate are discovered by a nurse coming by to do rounds, and summarily kicked out of the hospital). The Second Lieutenant greets Riza, who is undergoing her second transfusion, and then pulls up a chair between both of their beds. “I bought a book from the library. And the watch I mentioned. I’m supposed to report to Central Command in an hour for my rebuilding shift, but I figured we could get started now. Falman’s coming by later. He can take over, if you want.”

Roy reaches out, taking the watch. It feels like a regular wristwatch. The metal is smooth and cold against his skin. “I appreciate the thought, Breda, but I don’t have time for a novel. Is there anything at the library on agriculture in desert areas?”

“It’s not a novel.” He can practically hear Breda rolling his eyes. “It’s a book on the process of adjusting to vision loss.”

For a second, Roy is lost for words. “Oh.” 

“I know that there are specialists who are supposed to help with these kinds of things, but I figured that this is just a general hospital, not a military rehabilitation center, so…”

“That was very kind.” Riza’s voice is soft.

Breda clears his throat. “Should I get started?” 

“Yes.” It’s difficult to speak, around the tightness in his throat. Roy makes himself nod. “Go on.”

Breda starts to read.

-

Falman arrives shortly after Breda leaves. “I can only stay for a couple of minutes, sir, Lieutenant.” The Second Lieutenant sounds fatigued. “Colonel, I just passed Lieutenant Hawkeye a folder with the career records of First Lieutenant Malcolm Slade. Slade served at Southern Command between 1860 to 1875. He was blinded in one of the Aerugo conflicts and offered an honorable discharge. Slade’s commanding officer, one Colonel Emory Pierce, advocated on his behalf, and Slade remained in the service.”

“Thank you, Falman.” Roy stands, with some difficulty, and he almost feels the alarmed stares that Riza and Falman direct at him. 

Falman strides closer, which is just what he had wanted. “Colonel, should you be up?”

Roy reaches out, and manages to pat the Second Lieutenant on the arm. A small victory. “I have no idea how you found the career records for an obscure Lieutenant who served at Southern Command before either of us were born - with less than twenty-four hours notice - but I know that only you could have pulled that off.” 

“Thank you, sir.” He imagines Falman ducking his head modestly, as he always does when offered any praise. “I just hope it’s helpful to your case.”

He rushes off to report to Central Command. Roy stays standing, resting some of his weight against the hospital bed, an anchor. He hears the rustling of papers, as Riza goes through the folder. “This is very interesting, sir.” 

“I’m glad that there’s precedent. That should make the conversation with Grumman easier.”

He feels Riza look at him, again. “Colonel. How are you feeling?”

The tone of her voice makes it clear that she’s not asking about his physical well-being. Roy opens his mouth and then closes it, unsure of how to respond. Riza is the one person left that he can truly confide in, but he doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know how to start. 

“My mind feels stretched to the point of snapping,” he says, at last. “Between thinking about Ishval, and politics, and all the changes that I’m going to have to make, and all that I’ll have to learn.” 

“It must be overwhelming.” There’s no pity in Riza’s voice. Just understanding. She pauses, as if trying to decide what to say. “This is a path that you - that none of us - ever thought you would walk. But please know that you’re not alone in this. We’re with you, always.”

“I know. It makes…” Roy clears his throat, and averts his eyes, uncomfortable with the overt display of emotion. “It makes a difference.” 

-

Riza drifts into sleep an hour into her second transfusion, right in the middle of their discussion on how to handle conversations around reconstruction with the Ishvalan elders. Roy waits until one of the nurses comes in to check on Riza and inspect the wounds on his hands, and then he lays on the charm enough to convince her to take him to visit the Elric brothers.

Talking with them lifts his spirits, though he will never admit that to anyone, not even Riza. When Roy returns to his room, escorted by an older nurse who chides him for getting into a shouting match (a  _ spirited discussion _ , Roy insists) with Fullmetal, he pauses at the threshold, hearing a familiar voice talking with Riza. Something inside him clenches up with nerves. He had expected this, but not so soon. 

“I’ll take him from here, Nurse.” Grumman’s tone is jovial, and the nurse murmurs her agreement, leaving to check on the Elrics. 

Roy can’t help but roll his eyes. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not a sack of potatoes.”

“Touchy as always, Mustang.” Grumman sounds amused, as he leads him to his bed.

Roy takes a seat, hearing Grumman settle down as well. It sounds like he’s in the chair between his bed and Riza’s, the same one Breda had used earlier in the morning. 

“Well…” Grumman sighs. “It looks like you and I might have to find a new game to play. Unless you think you can memorize the board and have the Lieutenant assist you. Knight to E5, Queen to E7, and so on.”

“I would be happy to help, sir.”

That’s something he hadn’t considered, and Roy smiles. He can’t help but remember the chess games he had shared with Riza an eternity ago, when they had both lived under Berthold Hawkeye’s roof. “Challenge accepted, General. Or should I call you Fuhrer?”

“Fuhrer-elect, until the first of the month.” There’s pride in Grumman’s voice, and pleasure, and Roy fights back the wave of resentment that threatens to sweep over him, the thought that  _ it should have been me.  _ “Riza said that you were amenable. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Of course,” Roy says neutrally. Even after all these years, it’s still a surprise to hear Grumman say Riza’s name so casually. Riza and Grumman are so starkly different in personality and demeanor that he often forgets the relationship between them. But it’s been a long day - a long week, a long winter, a long year - and he doesn’t have the patience to play the game. Not today. “I’m sure you can guess what my next question is.”

Grumman’s reply comes easily - much more easily than he had expected. “My answer is yes. You lost your sight, Mustang, not your mental faculties. You and your office can figure out whatever accommodations are necessary.” 

Roy blinks, taken aback. “I--thank you, sir.”

“Thank the Lieutenant. She was a passionate advocate on your behalf.” Grumman shifts in his seat. “Now,” he says. “Tell me more about these plans for Ishval.”

-

In the hours that follow, their hospital room turns into a miniature version of their old offices in Central and East City. Falman, Fuery, and Breda visit, bringing the boxes of books and reports he had requested. Roy tries not to think about how much he misses reading for himself, and being able to take in an entire page of text with a glance or two. He had always been a fast reader. At first, he had to swallow his pride over being read to like a child, but even beyond that, it’s much slower going to rely on others to read for him rather than doing it on his own. 

But he’s distracted, energized, by the work at hand, by the fact that he still has a purpose and a goal to strive towards, despite everything else he’s lost. 

Then Dr. Knox and Dr. Marcoh come to visit, and Roy’s world is inverted for the second time in as many days. 

-

He asks for some privacy, to think, and everyone else leaves. 

“Should I--” Riza starts.

“Of course not.” The words come out sharper than he had intended. 

Roy makes his way, carefully, to the window, following the warmth of the sunlight. He rests a bandaged head on the glass, bracing himself. He imagines the green grass and the blue skies, and wonders if there are any clouds today. There’s a knot in his chest.

Riza comes to join him, a quiet, reassuring presence at his side. Roy has to stifle the temptation to put an arm around her, and rest his weary head against her shoulder. He had held her so easily on the Promised Day, but that seems impossible, now. 

They stay silent for a long time. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” Roy says, finally. “To use it. To use the souls of the people we murdered in such a way.”

“I understand. I would have the same reservations.”

Roy takes a deep breath. “But it means--” 

He chokes on the rest of the words. 

He will still find a way to make his goals for Ishval and Amestris a reality. He’ll accomplish those goals, if it’s the last thing he does. But he will never see a sunset again. Or his friends’ faces. He’ll never see Riza’s eyes again, or her small smile. 

Roy closes his eyes. He’s too weary, this time, to hold back the tears that slip down his cheeks. 

Riza doesn’t say anything. She just reaches out and places a gentle hand on his back. “I’ll support you. No matter what you choose.”

“Thank you.” Roy opens his eyes. He marshals his composure. “Please dial Knox’s number for me.”

-

It’s decided, over breakfast the following day (bagels and cream cheese, brought in by Fuery). They’ll ship out to Ishval in four weeks. It will give them time for the preliminary preparations. It will give Havoc time to make some more progress with his physical therapy before he joins them in Ishval. And it will give Roy time to adjust to his new way of life.

“I’d like to inspire confidence in the Ishvalan people,” he tells the unit. “I won’t be able to do that if I can barely walk a few steps without flinching.”

Doctor Strassman comes by later, to examine both of them and discuss their discharge from the hospital. “Tell me more about your living situation, Colonel Mustang,” Strassman says. His voice is brisk and bright. He sounds young. “Do you live alone? Single-story or split-level?”

“I have a two-bedroom apartment, all on one level, on the fourth floor.” Roy glances over to Riza’s side of the room. He wouldn’t take this chance if they were in a military hospital, but this is Central General, staffed entirely by civilians. “I do live alone, but my Lieutenant will be able to assist me, for the time being.”

Strassman makes a sound of acknowledgement, and Roy hears the scratching of pen against paper; notes being added to his chart. When the doctor leaves, Roy rubs the back of his neck, feeling suddenly, unexpectedly self-conscious. “Will Black Hayate mind a relocation to my apartment?”

“Not at all, sir.” Riza sounds thoughtful. “It would be good for him to get to know you better.”

“Thank you, Hawkeye.” 

-

The day that Roy and Riza are discharged from the hospital, the entire unit requests leave from their regular duties, and takes on the task of making his apartment safe for a blind person. “No clutter on the floors,” Breda says darkly, ominously, as he straightens up the space, moving boxes that Roy had never gotten around to unpacking. “You don’t want to fall and crack your head open.” 

Meanwhile, Riza visits a fabric store, and comes back with an armful of material. She hangs up a large swatch of felt fabric on the bathroom door, so he’ll be able to identify it with ease. She pins a silk hanging on his bedroom door, a velvet one on her bedroom door, rough canvas near the entrance to the kitchen, and fleece in the living room. 

Falman organizes his closet, making everything as easy as possible to find, showing him the new system. Fuery wanders around with a label-maker for raised Amestrian script that he had borrowed from a local nursing home, and patiently teaches him the basics. Gracia visits and drops off two large casserole trays.

At the end of the day, everyone leaves, and Roy is alone with Riza.

He should work. Or take a shower. Or practice with the guides Fuery had left him. Or he could recount the steps from the living room to his bedroom, and from his bedroom to the kitchen, and solidify his mental map of the space. Roy just sits on the sofa, fatigue settling over him like a blanket. He feels Black Hayate nosing around near his feet, and he bends, petting the soft fur on the dog’s head. “It’s surprisingly hard work, being blind.”

It had been an attempt at a joke. Riza joins him in the living room, accompanied by a fragrant scent, and he realizes it’s the citrus tea she likes, that she used to drink in the office. “You’re taking in a lot of new information and making changes. It’s natural that you should feel tired. The mental strain should diminish, as you become accustomed to things.”

“I hope so.” Roy looks in her direction. “How are you doing? You didn’t overexert yourself today?”

“I’m fine, Colonel.” The other sofa creaks as Riza settles down onto it, and she sighs. “Do you mind if I put the radio on? There’s an audio drama I like listening to on Thursday nights.”

“Go ahead.” 

Riza switches on the radio. Roy listens, half-paying attention, and imagines her curled up on the other sofa, sipping her tea. 

Over the years, he had spent many hours at his desk engaged in pointless, stupid daydreams about what it would be like to live with Riza Hawkeye. Sometimes the daydreams had been innocent and domestic - cooking and eating dinner together, curling up on the sofa to read, taking Hayate out for walks, working on the crossword as a joint effort, evenings out at the theatre or the symphony. Listening to a radio drama together.

Roy had never viewed those dreams as something attainable. They took place in another time, in another life, when that could have been a possibility. If he had chosen the life of a civilian alchemist instead of joining the military. If Riza hadn’t followed him into the army. If they had both resigned their commissions after Ishval, instead of staying in, committed to bringing down the government from the inside.

If someone had told him a year ago that one of those dreams would become a reality, under these circumstances, he would have never believed it. 

-

Roy finds that his days are thrice as long and exhausting now. Every professional and personal task is slow and deliberate, taking longer and requiring more mental energy than it used to. There’s no such thing as an easy, mindless chore any longer. 

Sunsets should hold no appeal to him, but every evening, Roy goes out to the balcony and stays there for quite some time. He can’t see the colors, but he likes to take the time to reflect, to feel the warmth on his face, the light breeze ruffling his hair. It’s ironic. He had never made much of an effort to stand out here when he could fully appreciate it. He had spent half of his evenings in the office, working until nightfall. 

Roy hears the sound of the sliding door, and footsteps on the balcony. “Hawkeye,” he greets, as she comes to stand beside him. “Did you two have a good walk?”

“We did. Hayate made a friend.” Riza shifts beside him, and he hears her exhale. “There’s something I need to talk to you about, sir.” 

The words take Roy by surprise. He had been meaning to talk to her about the Promised Day, but they had gotten so wrapped up in everything that had changed - their plans, his blindness - that this particular difficult conversation had fallen to the wayside. Besides, he’d had no idea how to bring it up, and he feels a rush of relief that Riza is more courageous than he had been. “Yes?”

“I’ll be away for the next two weeks. I’m leaving on Friday.” 

Roy turns so sharply he nearly pulls a muscle in his neck. “What? This close to our departure to Ishval?” 

It’s uncharacteristic. Riza rarely takes time off, outside of the occasional long weekend. It’s something Roy doesn’t like to admit, but even a few days without her used to leave him feeling a little off balance.

The months of separation while she had been forced to work for the Fuhrer had been unpleasant, to say the least. He missed her in his field of vision, blonde and blue. He missed the calm, steady cadence of her voice. It had rubbed his nerves raw, how wrong it felt to have an empty space by his side. With all of that over, he had expected (he had hoped) that they wouldn’t be separated for any significant length of time again. 

“I apologize, sir.” Riza sounds subdued. “I know that the timing isn’t ideal. But it can’t be helped. It’s something that needs to be addressed as soon as possible.”

He knows that whatever is calling her away right now, for half a month, has to be urgent. Roy taps his fingers on the railing of the balcony. “What is it?”

“Guide dog training for Hayate, in New Optain. It normally takes one to two months, but I spoke to the organizers and explained his background. I told them that he’s a military-trained dog as well as a companion animal. They think that he and I will be able to work through the curriculum ahead of schedule, since he’s not a stranger to rigorous training.” 

Roy frowns, the words taking a moment to register. Breda’s book had discussed at length the three mobility options for the blind. Sighted guides, guide dogs, and using a special cane. He hadn’t been ready to properly think about it at the time, and to his shame, he had an almost visceral response to the suggestion of using a cane. The idea of other military officials’ reaction to it - the idea that they would look at him with judgement in their eyes - had made him flinch for just an instant. He should have known better than that. He’s seen disabled veterans from Amestris’s many military conflicts. 

“Lieutenant. You don’t have to--” Roy falters on the words. “He’s your dog. I can’t take him from you.”

“I thought that you would prefer this option.” Riza’s voice is soft. “I noticed your reaction to the idea of a cane. I’m always willing to assist you, but I can’t be with you all the time.”

Roy feels a pang at the thought, at the unexpected reminder that their current living situation is temporary. This won’t be acceptable once they’re in Ishval. “My point still stands. I don’t want to take your dog away.” He folds his arms, considering. “Are there other dogs available at this training facility?”

“Yes - they’ve been raised for the purpose of working with the blind.” 

“I’ll take one of those, then. Find me the largest one available.” Roy smiles slightly. “A dog that will look nice and intimidating sitting at my side during meetings, and beside my desk while I’m at work.”

He hears the smile in Riza’s voice. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. In that case, I’ll have to extend my leave request.” 

“Your extended leave request is not approved. I have complete faith in your ability to work with this new dog and train it as quickly as you would have trained Black Hayate.”

Riza sighs, but there’s a note of amusement in it. “I’ll do my best, Colonel.”

Colonel. Lieutenant. Even after all they went through on the Promised Day, they still haven’t broken out of the formalities that have governed their lives for so long. Roy hesitates, and decides to take the leap. “I’ll miss you.”

He doesn’t add,  _ Lieutenant.  _ He doesn’t say  _ We’ll miss you.  _ It’s a casual line he’s always thrown at her, whenever she’s requested leave in the past -  _ we’ll miss you, Lieutenant.  _ He had hoped that the subtext would be clear. There have been a few occasions where Riza has said something similar to him, before he’s gone off on leave -  _ You’ll be missed, Colonel.  _ They have turned speaking around the truth into an art form. 

The words hang in the air between them. Three small words. Roy hadn’t expected that such a tiny change in phrasing would make him feel so vulnerable. 

“I’ll miss you too.” 

Riza says it quietly, but deliberately, and he hears the effort that it takes her, to leave his title off the end. 

That should be enough. That one small step, after years of stalemate, years of being locked in the same holding pattern. 

It isn’t. 

Ration and logic tells him that Riza is leaving on Friday for two weeks, and she’ll return to him then, and nothing will go amiss, nothing will be amiss. Something deeper inside him, something anxious and fearful, remembers one of his last sights of her. Lying on the stone floor, her loose hair spread out around her, blood pooling underneath her, her sharp eyes closed. Roy remembers the fear and the panic, the horror, the tiny voice inside him screaming that  _ she’ll die right here, right now, without you having ever kissed her, without you having ever told her properly what she means to you-- _

He feels Riza at his side and imagines her position, from the angle of her voice when she had spoken to him.

Roy moves his hand a few inches to the right, on the railing, and it brushes against Riza’s.  _ Success,  _ he thinks, as triumphant as if he’s fifteen again and holding a girl’s hand for the first time. Riza startles at the fleeting contact. Before she can pull back, he places his hand on hers. Lightly, gently enough that she could withdraw, if she wanted. She doesn’t. 

He feels her turn toward him; he hears the rustle of her clothing. With no visual stimuli to distract him, Roy is overly aware of the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his chest. He reaches out, and his hand finds Riza’s unbound hair as he cradles the side of her head. He remembers what her hair looks like in the sunset. The way the light hits the tawny strands and makes them blaze golden. The memory makes him smile.

Roy leans in, carefully. To his eternal gratitude (he’s envisioned nightmare scenarios of kissing her chin, or her cheek), Riza meets him halfway. Her lips are soft, half open, and she tastes like the citrus tea she likes so much. Roy doesn’t recognize the sound that comes from him, small and yearning, as something he’s capable of making - the Flame Alchemist, a war criminal, a veteran of a civil war and a coup. Riza wraps her fingers around his wrist and the tiniest sound works its way free of her throat - of surprise, relief, or pleasure, he can’t tell which. 

He could stay like this for an eternity, but he feels Riza go tense, and she pulls away from him abruptly. She tangles her fingers with his and leads him inside, drawing the sliding door shut with a  _ snap, _ and Roy misses the warmth of the sunlight on his face and hands. 

Riza’s standing in front of him, close, breathing a little harder than usual. “Colonel. Sir.” The doubled up formalities - a reminder to her, to both of them - reveal how rattled she is. “The anti-fraternization regulations…” 

Her words have given him a sense of where to find her. Roy reaches out, cupping Riza’s cheek in one hand, brushing a thumb against her cheekbone. He remembers that there had been a scratch there, once, inflicted by Pride early in the winter. “We broke the regulations, in feeling if not in fact, a long time ago. The evening that we fought Gluttony and Lust should have proved that.” 

Riza takes hold of his wrist again, resting her thumb over the pulse point. He feels her nod, slowly, reluctantly. 

“We’ve spent six years avoiding this, Riza.” It’s embarrassing, it’s unlike him, but Roy stammers over her name, just once. He’s always referred to her by her first name in his mind, but it’s not easy to make the transition to speaking it aloud. “After everything that happened on the Promised Day, I can’t tolerate the thought of spending six more years in this stalemate. Can you?”

Riza exhales, short and almost shuddering. “No. I can’t.”

It sounds like the admission almost causes her pain. Roy takes her hand. “Then--”

Riza closes the distance between them with one step, takes his face in both of her hands, and kisses him on the lips. It’s harder than he expected, enough to knock him a little off balance, and Roy steps back, his back hitting the wall. “Sorry,” Riza breathes, drawing back just a little bit, resting an apologetic hand on his arm.

Roy grins, like he hasn’t in almost a year. “Don’t apologize. That’s the best thing you’ve ever done to me.”

Riza hums thoughtfully, and trails her fingertips from his arm up to the collar of his shirt, before taking it in hand. When she speaks, her voice is as serious as ever. “I think I could do much better.”

_ Show me,  _ Roy almost says, but Riza does, before he can even form the words. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tight, and he pours everything he hasn’t been able to say for the past years, months, weeks, into the kiss. Every single time, looking at Riza from across his desk, glancing at her over his shoulder, following a step behind him, that he had thought--  _ I love you, I'm grateful for you,  _ or  _ you’re my strength, my support, the pillar that holds me up, the guiding light that keeps me on course. I can’t imagine this path without you. I don’t want to imagine it without you.  _

All the things he hadn’t been able to say before. All the things that he can’t say yet, after spending so many years accustomed to keeping silent. 

Riza curls her hand around the back of his neck and kisses him back so thoroughly that it leaves him breathless. Roy can feel her heart beating against his own, faster than usual.  _ I know,  _ she says, without saying a word.  _ I always have. _

She finally withdraws, and takes his hand, leading him down the hallway. Roy follows automatically, unquestioningly trusting in a way he wouldn’t be with anyone else. They take sixty steps before he hears the door open, not sixty-five. So Riza had chosen her bedroom, not his. 

In another world, Roy would have teased her, flirted with her, said he would follow her anywhere, but especially to where she’s leading him now. In this world, the way things stand now, his anticipation is tempered by nerves, and his mouth and throat feel too dry to speak. 

In the hospital, he had spent hours every night lying awake, a hundred questions racing through his mind, everything from the high-level to the utterly mundane. Would he be discharged from the military? Would his goals be within reach as a civilian? And all the while, another set of worries weighed down on him.  _ How am I going to live independently how am I going to go out running how am I going to navigate the world how am I going to read the menu at restaurants how will I handle money how will I feed myself without making a mess how will I cook how will I get dressed every morning how am I going to look presentable when I have no idea what I look like anymore I’m going to have to give up driving and I’m going to give my car to Riza-- _

He had never even thought about sex. Not once. About what such a visual act would be like if he couldn’t see. He had never thought about it until this moment, right here, right now. 

It’s not like he doesn’t want this. He’s wanted this - he’s wanted  _ Riza -  _ for years. More than almost anything else in the world. He’s just… as strange as it sounds, even to himself, he’s afraid. 

Riza closes the door behind them, and Roy swallows down his anxiety. “Well, Hawkeye,” he says, as smoothly as he can. He reaches out and catches a strand of her hair, and manages to push it behind her ear. “You have me at your mercy.” 

Riza takes his hand and draws it down a few inches - to the top of her chest, underneath her collarbone. “What do you feel?”

She sounds nearly as collected as always, but there’s the slightest tremble of nerves, of anticipation, in her voice. Roy fingers the material of her top. It’s soft and lightweight, appropriate for late spring. Knowing Riza, he would assume it’s pink, purple, tan, or light blue in color. “Hmm,” he says. “It appears to be some kind of knit blend.”

Riza actually laughs out loud, a rare and beautiful sound. Roy traces his fingertips against her blouse again, filing the sound of her laugh away in his memory. “Do you mean to say that you’re referring to the buttons here?”

“I am.” Roy can hear the smile in her voice, and it hurts, how much he longs to see it on her face. He’s fantasized about unbuttoning Riza’s tops for years. The fantasies had never been quite like this. In all of them, he had been able to see her, to admire every inch of skin revealed. 

Her blouse has ten buttons. Roy undoes them carefully, top to bottom, and when he reaches the bottom, Riza places his right hand on her thigh. He feels the fabric and the way it clings to her legs, and sighs wistfully. “You’re wearing that dark gray skirt, aren’t you? The one that stops just above your knees, and has the slit up the right side?” 

Riza laughs again, and oh, he could get used to that. “You know my wardrobe too well. It’s a little disturbing.”

“Please. I bet you’re just as familiar with mine.” 

They’re standing close enough that Roy can feel Riza shrugging out of her shirt and hear her folding it up. Because of course Riza Hawkeye wouldn’t let her clothes fall to the ground, where they would be vulnerable to creases or wrinkles, which are both most unprofessional. Roy almost laughs. He lifts a hand and lets it hover, a few inches from her skin. “May I?”

Riza’s breath hitches slightly. “Of course.”

Roy strokes his palms over her shoulders, first, brushing the loose locks of her hair out of the way. Riza’s shoulders are strong and sculpted, and the straps of her bra are thin and silken. He slips one finger underneath a strap, and is rewarded by a quick intake of breath, before letting it fall back into place and trailing his hands down her arms, toned from years of military training. His touch is giving her goosebumps.

He has subtly (and not-so-subtly) admired Riza’s arms and shoulders before, on every occasion he’d seen her in civilian clothes that left them bare. At least he has those memories. She usually has a tan at this time of year, warming her usually-pale skin tone. Roy brushes the backs of his fingers along her sides - uncharted territory - tracing the curve of her waist and then the flat planes of her stomach, feeling Riza shiver.

“Ticklish?” he asks. 

“No.” Riza’s reply comes too quickly. Roy smirks, and she sighs. “You’re going to abuse that knowledge, aren’t you?”

“I would never.” Roy skims his fingers against the underwire of her bra, a soft, experimental touch, and Riza takes a step closer to him. He can feel her breath, warm and light, ghosting over his skin. The fabric underneath his fingers is as silken and satiny as the straps had been. 

“Nude,” Riza whispers.

“Thank you.” Roy traces his fingers over her breasts, before cupping them with both of his hands, feeling their soft weight and warmth, and this is divine, almost entirely perfect. “I was wondering.” 

“I know.” Riza’s breathing is a little ragged.

He imagines her, standing in front of him, wearing nothing but that pencil skirt he likes so much and a nude-colored bra, her hair loose around her shoulders, head tilted slightly back as he touches her, eyes slipping shut, dark eyelashes brushing against her skin. Riza’s cheeks are probably pink, her lips slightly parted. He’s imagined her like this so many, many, many times, and suddenly, Roy wants to  _ see  _ her so badly that he nearly moans from the intensity of it, the sense of loss and disappointment and grief and desire all tangled up in one. 

“What is it?” Riza’s grip on his arm tightens a little. He can hear the concern in her voice.

Roy takes a deep breath, willing himself to hold it together. “I would give my right arm,” he says, slowly, deliberately, his voice tightly controlled, “to see you right now.” 

Riza is silent for a few moments. Then, wordlessly, she embraces him, holding him close, effortlessly comforting. Roy buries his head between her shoulder and neck and breathes her in. “I wish we’d had the sense to break the fraternization laws sooner. Just once. Even once. I just - I wish I at least had one memory of seeing you like this.” 

Riza pulls back and rests her hands on his shoulders, caressing them. “I know it must be hard for you.” Her voice is just as tightly controlled as his. “I can’t imagine never being able to see you again. But I would trade places with you in an instant, if it meant that you would have your sight back.” 

Roy closes his eyes. “I know, Lieutenant.” The word just slips out, after years of habit, but it’s not a formality. It’s almost a term of endearment. “I know.”

Riza takes his hand. She brushes it against her cheek, and then presses a soft kiss to the backs of his fingers - a sweet gesture that takes him by surprise - and then guides them against the tops of her breasts, tracing them down her cleavage. “Touch me all you want.” The words would sound forward, a flirtatious, seductive invitation, from anyone else. From his Lieutenant, they’re a gentle, genuine offer. “If that helps.” 

“It does.” Roy exhales. “It does.”

They move toward one another in the same moment, kissing hard, hungrily, harder than they had on the balcony and in the living room. Roy fists a hand in Riza’s hair, his grip careful and gentle, and she wraps her arms around him, raking her fingernails down his back, making him shiver. “What do you want, Roy?” she asks, in between kisses. 

Riza hasn’t called him by his first name in ten years, and the effect it has on him is instantaneous and even more intense than when she’d let him feel her up. Roy’s knees actually almost give out underneath him, and he feels a sharp spike of gratitude, because at least he still has his hearing, at least he’s able to hear Riza say his name - his  _ name,  _ not  _ Colonel  _ or  _ sir. _ “Can you take the rest of your clothes off and sit down in the middle of the bed?” he asks, a little hoarsely.

Riza makes a small sound of assent. He hears movement, and then she places something over his shoulder. Roy shrugs it off, and realizes that he’s holding her bra in his hands. “If you undress, as well.” The bed creaks. “Equivalent exchange.” 

“I think I can accommodate that.”

Roy doesn’t bother folding his discarded clothes. He joins Riza on the bed, remembering where he’d heard the mattress creak, sitting behind her. He reaches out, tentative, and his fingers close around her shoulder. He can’t help but remember the last time he had been this close to Riza’s naked back. “Stop me,” he says, because he’s sure she remembers it, too. “If you’re not comfortable.”

“I will.” 

He knows her back. He knows her back too well. Roy draws his fingers down the line of Riza’s spine anyway, feeling her inhale. Suddenly, he realizes that he can’t see the burns that he had inflicted on her. A blessing, and a curse. 

He leans forward, skimming his hands down Riza’s legs, caressing her thighs, resisting the temptation to part them. He strokes her knees, her calves, down to her ankles, and back up, pleased by the contented sounds she’s making. “I’ve never been able to say this openly, but I’ve always thought that you have the most perfect legs.”

“Oh, I know.” Riza’s voice is dry, but he hears the smile in it. She tilts her head back, resting it against his shoulder, relaxing into him. “You may not have been able to say so out loud, but you haven’t been subtle about it, either.” 

“You know what would be a nice addition to your wardrobe? A miniskirt. Or several.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Riza’s tone makes it very clear that she will  _ not  _ be taking that under advisement, and Roy grins.

“I’ll try not to tickle you,” he promises, and moves his hands over her hips, over her stomach, imagining what he can’t see. Riza seems to like that. She shifts underneath his touch, arches her back, and makes a tiny, impatient sound, hastily stifled. He wonders if she’s biting her lip. 

Roy closes his eyes (not that it matters) and rests his face in her hair. It smells of her vanilla shampoo. He brushes it out of the way with his face, and kisses down the shell of her ear, nips at her earlobe, then moves down the side of her neck, to her shoulder. For a moment, strangely, he’s grateful for his blindness. There’s nothing to distract him from the sound of Riza’s breathing, her gasps, and then her soft moans, as he traces the sensitive skin around the sides of her breasts and underneath them, before cupping them in both hands, squeezing them lightly. His entire world is the feel of Riza finally underneath his hands - the woman he loves - and the sound of her moaning his name, his  _ name (oh, Roy, yes,  _ she says) as he brushes his knuckles over her nipples, slowly, strokes them with his fingertips, pinches them but not too hard, and it’s perfect. Not  _ almost  _ perfect, but perfect. 

Riza is squirming in his arms, her breath erratic, and Roy feels her lose patience a second before she acts. She twists around, pushing him down onto his back, and climbs on top of him, straddling him - but not on top of him in the way he wants, not yet. He closes his eyes in sheer bliss as she runs her hands over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. “That feels  _ very  _ good, Hawkeye. I could almost forgive you for interrupting the important task I was working on.” 

“It’s not fair that you should get to have all the fun, sir.” Riza massages his shoulders, and then bends to press hot, hard kisses down the line of his throat, toward the hollow of his neck. Her hair falls forward, forming a curtain around them, tickling his skin.

Roy opens his eyes, and he wonders what’s in hers. Desire, impatience, affection--

“Riza.” 

Riza stops, and pulls back. Her weight shifts, telling him that she’s sitting up straight. “Is everything all right?” 

Roy tries to suppress the feeling of embarrassment. He can feel the heat rising to his face. He reaches out, resting a hand on her hip. “Most of the time, over these past years,” he starts, a little self-consciously. “We didn’t speak openly to each other, out of necessity. I would hear one thing, listening to you, but I’d understand everything else I needed to by looking at you. I’d see the look in your eyes, the expression on your face, the set of your shoulders - and I’d know everything I needed to know.” 

Roy hears the intake of breath, the comprehension, and Riza inclines her head. “Of course. I felt the same way.”

“I can’t--” Roy swallows. He isn’t accustomed to feeling so vulnerable. “I can’t do that any longer. I know your voice well enough to tell me what’s on your mind, but that only goes so far. It would be helpful if you could tell me what you’re feeling, when you can. I miss being able to look at your face and understand you.” 

The confession hangs in the air between them. Riza remains silent. She’s always been confident, unhesitating, in giving him her opinion when it relates to their work, their mission, their goals. It’s much more rare for her to be open when it comes to personal matters. 

She runs her fingers through his hair, slowly, and Roy realizes a moment too late that his request must have left her feeling as vulnerable as he does. 

“I love you.” Riza’s voice is barely audible. “I’m sure you’ve known that for a long time. But if you were to look at me now, that’s what you would see.”

He hadn’t known, not for certain, but he had suspected. He had seen it in the concern in Riza’s eyes, the way she protected him in the field, the care and devotion she has always demonstrated, going beyond that of even the most loyal subordinate to a commanding officer. Roy savors the words nevertheless. Holds them close, committing them to memory, the first time he has heard her say them out loud. Hopefully, the first time of many.

“I know,” Roy says gently, warmly, trying to put her at ease. He knows Riza. The confession couldn’t have come easily. “I love you too.”

Riza makes a sound that’s half a cry and half a laugh. “I know.”

He tastes the salt on her cheeks when she bends to kiss him. “While I’m telling you what’s on my mind,” Riza breathes, “I want you inside me. Right now.”

Roy laughs, a little shakily. She’s certainly ordered him around before, mostly with regards to doing paperwork, but he could get used to being on the receiving end of these kinds of orders, too. “I can do that.”

Riza pulls him on top of her, guides him into her, in one smooth movement. Roy gasps, burying his head in her neck, as she wraps her legs around him. It’s like earlier - not  _ almost _ perfect, but truly, fully perfect. Even though it doesn’t last long. Even though it’s just a matter of minutes before Riza’s arching underneath him, tightening her legs around him, nearly sobbing his name. That drives Roy over the edge too, faster and harder than he’s ever come before, even when he had been thinking of her during that long winter of separation. 

Afterwards, Riza curls up against him, pressing her back to his chest, and he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair, her shoulder, the side of her neck. “I’ll miss you,” Roy says. 

Riza curls her fingers into his. “I’ll miss you, too.”

Both of them speak the words easily, naturally, this time, much more so than earlier, out on the balcony. It makes Roy wonder, at how easy it is now to tell Riza that he will miss her, and to call her by her first name - and how easy it had been to tell her he loved her. 

It makes him wonder what else will get easier, over time. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this allowed me to indulge in my dream end-of-fmab scenario: Roy stays blind, keeps Team Mustang, and achieves his goals of rebuilding Ishval and reforming the government with his team, Riza, and a loyal guide dog by his side. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading! I'd love to know what you thought. :)


End file.
